


The Gift of Sleep

by GinAndShatteredDreams



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, Insomnia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 15:42:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8629717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GinAndShatteredDreams/pseuds/GinAndShatteredDreams
Summary: Day 3 of Ford Safety Week - FordxSleepWhile visiting the Mystery Shack on winter break, Dipper finds out about Ford's insomnia.  He and Mabel send him a gift to help him finally get some sleep but all doesn't go as well as they had hoped.(Hints strongly at autistic Ford and Dipper, especially at the end.  Possibly Mabel and Stan as well if you'd like to headcanon it.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Insomnia, mentions of past trauma, sleep deprived emotional breakdown
> 
> I wrote this entirely at work again between customers so er... it's basically a first draft like Day 2's fic.

  
December 28, 2012

Dipper yawned and turned another page, soaking in the story of a boy who could travel to other worlds in his dreams. “No! That can’t be the end!” he snorted to himself as he reached the part where the boy was trapped aboard a pirate ship with dawn swiftly approaching. “No! He’ll be trapped there as a disembodied soul forever if he can’t get back to his world in time! Ugh! I hate cliffhangers!” He slammed his hand against his mouth as Mabel stirred, turning onto her other side. With a deep breath he turned his reading light off and looked up to the attic window, watching snow flurries swirling outside in the predawn light. “Aw man. Not again.” He heaved a sigh and pulled himself out of bed. With feet tucked inside his slippers and his comforter draped over his head, he descended the stairs to the Mystery Shack’s kitchen on the quest for a midnight, or more appropriately, early morning snack.

While he was happy to spend the holiday break with his favorite grunkles, he was starting to miss sleeping in his own bed again. It had happened over the summer as well and took him more than two weeks to get even somewhat used to it. Not that it matters, really. It’s not like I sleep all that much more even when I am home with my- His thought trailed off as he noticed the familiar slit of light under his Grunkle Ford’s bedroom door. It had been present every night for the past week and a half and he’d begun to wonder if the man ever even tried to sleep. He’d never knocked, never wanted to invade his privacy but this time, something made him reach out and tap his knuckles against the intricate wood carvings.

“Yes? Stanley, is that you? Is something wrong?” Ford’s muffled voice answered as footsteps neared the door. It creaked open and he peeked out, still fully clothed and looked both ways then down. “Oh Dipper. Hello. Good- er morning. It is morning now, correct?”

“Yeah. Early but yeah, it’s morning. Grunkle Ford? Are you alright?” Dipper asked, squinting his eyes against the light from within his bedroom and pulling his comforter tighter around himself.

“Yes, I’m fine. But what about you? Are you alright? Why are you awake at this hour? I hope I didn’t wake you. Please, come in if you’d like,” he said, stepping aside to let him in.

“No no, it wasn’t you,” he answered, taking a seat on his great uncle’s sofa and lowering the comforter from over his head, “I keep doing this thing where I say I’ll only read one chapter of a book before going to sleep and… ten minutes later I’ve read the entire book and it’s actually been eight hours.”

“Ha ha, yes I know that curse well. Stanley used to kick the top bunk to remind me to go to sleep back when we were kids. To his dismay it usually failed to do any good,” Ford replied, returning to a sprawl of papers at his desk.

“Is that why you’re awake now too? You… I noticed you’ve still been awake every night that we’ve been here.”

“To be honest, Dipper, I’ve never had much luck with sleep,” he sighed, turning to face his great nephew, “Even as a child I would try but end up lying awake for hours getting more and more frustrated until I’d have to get up and do something to take my mind off of how few hours of sleep I’d get yet again. I tried sleep aids for a while when I first arrived in Gravity Falls but none of them seemed to work. Some would help me sleep but leave me groggy for the entire next day and others made me simultaneously jumpy and even more sleepy so I’d still lie awake, frustrated and not sleeping. The ones that did work stopped working after a year of taking them. But, you know,” he laughed, trying to make light of the situation, “on the bright side, this insomnia saved my life more than once so it’s not all bad. And with an average of 8-10 hours of sleep a week, I get a lot more work done.”

“But… That’s not healthy. You need sleep…” Dipper said, looking up to him with bloodshot eyes, “Says the guy who reads instead of sleeping…” he muttered, looking to his feet and fidgeting fingers, wholly refusing to admit that he wasn’t sleeping well without the blanket he’d had to leave at home.

“I’m sorry. It must run in the family,” Ford said with a soft smile, ruffling Dipper’s hair, “Does Mabel sleep well?”

“I think so. Sometimes she has nightmares or trouble falling asleep when something is bothering her but it’s not like, a common thing or anything. Mostly she falls asleep as soon as she lands on the bed.”

“Just like Stan when he was a boy. Ah… I envied him sometimes for that,” Ford mused, catching Dipper trying to hide a yawn, “Well, perhaps we should both at least try to get an hour or two of rest.”

“Yeah. I guess,” he answered, his yawn escaping alongside his words, “Goodnight Grunkle Ford.”

“Goodnight Dipper,” He said in an unavoidable, contagious yawn and held out his arm to hug his great-nephew.

****

January 15, 2013

A knock at the Mystery Shack’s back door rattled Stan out of his sleepy daze. “Huh-wha-?” He grunted jolting up from his chair, his eyes scanning the living room for a cause of the noise before it registered that someone must be at the door. “We’re closed for the season!” He shouted and sank back into his chair and the comforting glow of the TV.

A fist thumped against the door again and Stan groaned in annoyance, lifting himself from the warmth of his butt-cradling cushion. “Alright, alright, I’m comin’. Sheesh,” he grumbled, pulling up his boxers and sliding his feet into his slippers. He wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and trudged to the door, hoping whoever was there would leave by the time he got there. “Yeah, what is it?” He asked in a grainy voice as he pulled the door open.

“Delivery. Getting an early start on new merchandise for next season?” The brown-haired UPS driver asked.

“Oh hey, Katie…”

“Cathy.”

“Yeah whatever. And no, actually, I wasn’t expecting anything.”

“Oh. Well I did think it was a little odd that it was addressed to Stanford Pines rather than Stan or The Mystery Shack.”

“Oh. I wonder if Ford ordered something and didn’t tell me.” He muttered.

“What’s that? Do you think this was sent to the wrong address or something? Oh be careful!” she warned as he reached out for the box cradled in her arms, “It’s really heavy. Let me put that inside for you.”

“Thanks. And no, It’s probably for my brother. I’ll sign for it.”

“Brother?” she questioned, presenting a handheld scanner with a tiny screen for Stan to sign, “I didn’t know you had a…”

“Yeah,” he answered, scrawling scribbles that didn’t even try to spell his name onto the screen with a stylus barely big enough to hold between two fingers, “He’s been… Living overseas for thirty years but he’s back here now.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Well, whatever it is, hope he enjoys it. See you later,” she waved and trudged through the snow back to her truck.

“Yeah. Yeah it is nice,” he whispered to himself as he closed the door. He bent to pick up the package which had been placed upside down at his feet. He tried to wedge his fingers under it but immediately decided against it. “Damn, she wasn’t kidding that this is heavy. What the heck is it? Well, I ain’t messin’ up my back again with this… Hey, Poindexter! You got somethin’ in the mail! You order a box of rocks or something?!”

“Stanley?” Ford answered, poking his head out from the living room door, “No. I didn’t order anything. Are you sure it’s for me?”

“Well I didn’t order nothin’ ‘specially not a concrete door stop or whatever that is. ‘Sides, it’s got yer name on it.”

“Well, I suppose we should open it and find out what it is,” Ford suggested, one hand ruffling the hair on the back of his head.  
  
“Yeah I’ll get a knife.”

“Thank you,” Ford bent and rolled the box right-side-up. He frowned in annoyance at the message printed across the top flaps. “Hey Stan?!” He shouted toward the kitchen, “Don’t worry about getting- Oh.”

Stan clomped into the hall with a rusty box cutter in hand. “What’s that?” He said, leaning over Ford to read the box top, “Please do not open with knife,” His eyebrows flattened as he grumbled a joke Soos had always laughed at whenever they had to open a merchandise shipment, “Ha. What am I supposed to use, my dentures?”

Ford chuckled, “Ha, yes. I suppose ‘open with caution’ would be more appropriate.”

“Here, I got this. I get boxes like this for the gift shop all the time,” he said, nipping the edge of the tape. He lifted the boxes flaps letting the tape tear down the center. “Hey look. There’s a gift card for you,” he added, lifting a small blue envelope addressed to ‘Grunkle Ford’, “Guess it’s something from the kids. Here, open it.”

Ford lifted the envelope’s flap and delicately extracted the card from within. He smiled at the fluffy owl printed on its front before opening it and reading aloud:

Hi Grunkle Ford.

I hope you don’t mind but I was talking to Mabel about how you don’t get to sleep much and we thought this might help. It’s a weighted blanket and it’s supposed to be soothing to your senses and nerves so you can fall asleep easier and stay asleep longer. I didn’t really want to mention it when we talked before because people used to tease me for needing a ‘special blankie’ but I use one of these at home too and it helps. It just doesn’t travel well, is all. Anyway, I hope it helps you sleep.

Love, Dipper and Mabel.

PS: If you were wondering, this is why I was so interested in how much you weigh the day before we left. I needed to know so I could get the right weight on this.

“Aw that’s sweet of ‘em to think of you, Ford,” Stan said, patting Ford on the shoulder, “It would be pretty great if it did help you.”

“Indeed. I never knew such a thing existed. I’ll have to try it out tonight,” he thought aloud, remembering the layers of blankets he used as a kid, all of which still didn’t feel heavy enough.

“If you can lug it into your room, that is,” Stan kidded.

“Ha, well, I’m curious to see what it looks like,” Ford said, tearing at the tape which held a swath of dark blue tissue paper around the blanket. He revealed plastic-covered cotton in an khaki tone.

“Heh! I think they did a pretty good job with picking the color,” Stan commented, his eyes glancing between Ford’s coat and the nearly identically colored blanket.

Ford dug his nails into the clear plastic, pulling it apart to free the blanket. He flipped the corner up to find a burgundy flannel underside and chuckled. Pointing to his sweater he added, “I suppose when you wear the same thing so often, people begin to associate it with you.”

With a grunt, he lifted the heavy blanket, feeling glass beads shift in pockets sewn between the layers. He had to admit it felt pleasant already. Something about the gentle movement of the beads, like sifting coarse sand through his hands, and the sound they made, like a relaxing rainfall, had already settled his nerves. The only problem was, he couldn’t imagine trying to fall asleep under something that heavy. Wouldn’t it be uncomfortable?

After a video chat with the kids to thank them for their gift, he kept his promise to them and tried the blanket that night. Though he fell asleep within minutes of settling in under the shifting beads and warm flannel hugging him from above, it took him less than a half an hour to thrash his way out from under it, panting and panicked. “I can’t. I can’t! Oh God I can’t do this!” he huffed to himself, grasping his wrist, the feeling of heavy manacles wringing at his flesh. The feeling of arms and hands restraining him, holding him down until he could be caged and turned over for the bounty on his head surged through his muscles setting every nerve on end. “It’s too restricting… But this kids…” he groaned, resting his head in his hands, “What am I going to tell them? They were trying to help…”

The next day, he steadied his nerves with a series of deep breaths before making the first call to the kids that he had ever dreaded. With Stan by his side, he told the truth of his experience with the blanket littered with more apologies than explanatory words.

“Aw, it’s a shame it didn’t work for you, Grunkle Ford,” Dipper replied.

“Yeah,” Mabel added, “But don’t push yourself to use it if it’s not helping. It was just an idea and if it didn’t work, there’s no point in stressing over it. We totally understand.”

“Yeah. It’s alright if it makes you uncomfortable. Actually, when I think back on it, I didn’t like mine at first either. It was just… weird I guess. But It was a good kind of weird that made me want to keep trying it so I think it was different from what you’re feeling. So, please, don’t make yourself use it if it’s going to make you feel worse.”

“But that looked really expensive. The shipping alone must have cost a small fortune.”

“It’s not that bad. Pretty reasonable considering the cost of some comforters, really,” Dipper explained.

“I mean, yeah it’s still not cheap but your health is more important than what it cost,” Mabel added so matter-of-factly that it sent both Ford and Stan reeling.

“Wow, tell that to our dad,” Stan muttered.

“Yeah, he never even would have bought something like that in the first place even if he knew it would help,” Ford added.

“Mom had enough trouble convincing him to buy the glasses we needed,” Stan added, tapping the lens of his glasses, “And he was furious when he found out I wasn’t wearing mine.”

“Well, I think we’ve already established that great granddad was… kind of a jerk,” Dipper said, “Sorry, I mean, I know I shouldn’t say that about someone I’ve never met but-”

“No no. It’s alright. Be glad you never knew him. He really was a jerk,” Ford affirmed, placing a hand on Stan’s shoulder.

“Well anyway, don’t worry about it, Grunkle Ford. It was worth a try,” Dipper said with a comforting smile.

****

Though the kids had done everything possible to assure Ford that there were no hard feelings and no expectations for him to continue using their gift, he couldn’t help thinking about it. Sitting on the edge of the sofa in his bedroom, he lifted the blanket’s corner, rubbing the fuzzy flannel between his finger and thumb. He lifted a bit more into both hands, rocking the glass beads back and forth, the grainy sensation inexplicably pleasing to him. _Maybe it is like what happened with Dipper,_ he thought, _Maybe it’s just weird at first. And… I kind of do want to try it again. But is it just because I feel bad that it didn’t work…? No… I don’t think so. Something about it did feel… Nice at first. Comforting even. And I did actually sleep for a while. That’s… That’s slightly better than not at all. It’s not like I have any more luck without it…_

With that, his decision was made. He’d give it one more try. He spread the blanket over himself with some amount of struggling under its slinking weight and fell asleep within minutes, something he’d only ever managed when he was completely exhausted. It did feel comforting somehow. It was odd and heavy but the way it wrapped around him, the way it clung to him without being tucked beneath him, was satisfying, like alphabetized books which happened to fall in order by color or size as well, like the broken in and frayed wool of his sweater, or like the burst of flavor released when biting into a jellybean.

But again, an hour later, he struggled to release himself from the blanket’s embrace, his breath coming in short gasps. _It’s not fair. It’s not FAIR!_ He thought. He did enjoy the weight of soft flannel wrapped so perfectly around him, of the warmth, not too hot but just enough to keep him comfortable, of the feel and sound of the glass beads within their pockets. _Why do these memories have to ruin it for me?! Why are they ingrained into every muscle so deeply?! I hate this! I just… I just want to sleep…_ Frustration spilled over his cheeks in burning streaks, soft sobs shaking his shoulders. _I don’t get it. Why is it so comfortable at first but so horrifying when I wake up? Why can’t it be the same?_ He wondered why it couldn’t be more like the scent of old books, like the warmth of the afternoon sun against breeze-chilled cheeks, or like focusing on the crack in his glasses to maintain his sanity and anchor him to reality while traveling through unimaginable worlds.

Wait! That’s it! He thought, remembering the advanced meditation techniques Jheselbraum had shared with him. I just need to consciously try to associate it with something different! _Try to breathe. Interrupt and untangle the poisonous thoughts and see reality for what it is, not what my mind sees through lenses tainted by past experiences and emotions._

In secret, he tried again and again every night for a month. Each night, before he fell asleep, he focused on feeling the blanket hug him in it’s satisfying embrace and thought of pleasant sensations, memories, and ideas to associate with it. The sand from Glass Shard beach cradling his back as he stared up at the clouds under the warm summer sun, Dipper and Mabel’s arms wrapped around him, Stan leaning against him and falling asleep during reruns of The Duchess Approves, the silken fur comforter Jheselbraum provided to him in dimension 52, Fiddleford draping an arm over his shoulders as they succeeded in completing their college projects.

By the end of February, he was sleeping for at least six hours a night, something he’d never been able to do, and awakening with less of a start. He was able to talk himself down rather than struggle against what he knew was comforting to the part of him that remembered life before Bill, before the portal, before bounty hunters and interdimensional nightmares. He was able to anchor himself to the truth that he had family who cared for him enough to send him such a thoughtful gift and even more, to care so much that they valued his health and state of mind over whether or not he was able to use it.

Stan was the first to notice a difference in him, that he was more alert during the days, smiling and laughing more often, and mostly, that he’d leave his study and the basement in favor of his bedroom at night and that the slit of light no longer appeared beneath his door at all hours. He’d approached Ford about it cautiously, hoping he wasn’t using himself as a guinea pig in some experiment or trying out some sort of alien sleeping pills.

To Stan’s delight, Ford shared the truth with him and, later that day, with Dipper and Mabel as well.

“Grunkle Ford, that’s great! I’m sooo glad you’re getting some sleep now!” Mabel squealed her hands clasped under her chin on the screen. If she could have, she would have jumped through the computer screen and hugged him.

“Grunkle Ford I’m glad it helped you in the end,” Dipper said, sounding both joyful and concerned, “I just hope you didn’t push yourself because it was a gift from us or something.”

“No, I mean, I did hope I could use it because it was from you but it was more than that. I think it’s like you said. It was weird at first but a good kind of weird. The kind you want to try again.”

“The kind of weird we are!” Mabel added.

“Ha ha yes, I suppose it’s something like that,” Ford answered. “Thank you. Both of you, for thinking of me. I just… Gosh I can’t believe I’m ACTUALLY sleeping at night now. It’s such a great feeling!”

“It still ain’t eight hours but it’s sure better than ya’ did back when we were kids,” Stan added, ruffling Ford’s hair and provoking a ruffled owl expression from him.

“Next time you two are here,” Ford joked, patting his hair back into place, “I might hug you and never let go.”

“Well if that helped you out, Dipper and I should talk to you about a few other things as well. But I think we’ll wait until we visit on spring break if that’s okay,” Mabel said in a semi-serious tone, “It’s nothing bad or anything,” she added, her cadence lifting to a happier register.

“Yeah, it’s just good information that might be applicable to you,” Dipper said with a smile and a shrug, “Stuff that might help you out even more.”

“That sounds fine to me,” Ford answered, feeling slightly excited about the prospect of new information and almost wishing the two would talk to him now. Instead, he replied simply with, “Stan and I are looking forward to seeing you again,” knowing that some things were better discussed with the physical support of your family.

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea a while back but shelved it for a bit as I considered that the weight of a weighted blanket would probably make Ford panic because of all he'd been through. So er... sorry it was a rough road for him to get used to something that would have been easily soothing to him in his younger years. 
> 
> *Edit - This isn't meant to have a "keep trying it until you like it" message as I believe there are certain things that simply don't work for certain people and I believe in your right to identify them as such and either avoid them or, if they are necessary to survival, work at your own pace (or maybe with personalized help) to a point where you can cope with them. In this case, Ford felt torn because some part of him, the part that truly was him and not the part he'd built on a foundation of trauma, did enjoy it and he wanted to get past what was preventing him from enjoying it the way he knew he could. 
> 
> If anyone feels like adding more to this, feel free to go for it. I have no plans to continue it at the moment.


End file.
